As his mother crossed a yard on her way out, she saw, through a grated
door which separated it from another court, her husband, walking round
and round, with his hands folded on his breast, and his head hung down.
She asked the man who conducted her, if she might speak a word with
this prisoner. Yes, but she must be quick for he was locking up for
the night, and there was but a minute or so to spare. Saying this, he
unlocked the door, and bade her go in.
It grated harshly as it turned upon its hinges, but he was deaf to
the noise, and still walked round and round the little court, without
raising his head or changing his attitude in the least. She spoke to
him, but her voice was weak, and failed her. At length she put herself
in his track, and when he came near, stretched out her hand and touched
him.
He started backward, trembling from head to foot; but seeing who it was,
demanded why she came there. Before she could reply, he spoke again.
'Am I to live or die? Do you murder too, or spare?'
'My son--our son,' she answered, 'is in this prison.'
'What is that to me?' he cried, stamping impatiently on the stone
pavement. 'I know it. He can no more aid me than I can aid him.
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